The Window In The Well
by Smart Alex
Summary: In Lothlorien, there is a mirror, and a much younger Arwen knows of many places she has yet to explore. Oneshot, ficlet, bookverse.


**The Window In The Well**

Arwen is young, and travels from her home for the first time.

The one to receive her company first is her grandmother, who takes charge of her in Lothlorien. She promises to take her to see the proud white city of men, when she is older.

Arwen laughs with delight and hugs the lady, running away to play in the twilight a while longer before she sleeps.

-

In Lothlorien, there is a mirror.

Every morning and evening, by the light of the golden rising sun and the sylvan rising moon, Galadriel will take her leave of her new charge to look into the smooth water and see what may come to pass.

Some days, she smiles more benevolently than ever, and will even make crowns of elanor chains with her granddaughter, slim hands weaving the stems together with the ease of years of practice, silver and sapphire flashing on her finger.

Others, she will stay by her mirror for much longer during the day, and take counsel with her beloved; and all who see the Lady shiver, for her face is dark and terrible like a storm, yet beautiful as their queen always is.

-

The Lady is going to Isengard to take council with the Istari, and she will not take Arwen.

Although Arwen is disappointed, she can think of many places she has not explored yet and shall, as she has been left alone. The handmaidens who draw the water for the mirror have gone to attend to their lady, for it will not be needed while she is away. Arwen has observed the direction the lady takes to look, while she is outside bidding the stars farewell for the night.

So when the Eastern-bound travelers have faded into the horizon, she runs down the steps by the third mallorn in the fifth row of the garden, to her left, and takes a pitcher of water with her.

-

Arwen is slight for her age, and has some difficulty hoisting herself and the pitcher up the steps. She does not know what to do with the water in the pitcher, since there is already water in the inset bowl that must be the lady's mirror.

She decides to dump the water on the ground, and does so, before looking into the still, quiet depths. Expecting a grand display to appear in the water, she is surprised when nothing happens, until

_a man, dressed in black, rides a magnificent horse across empty plains, calling out- _

_**aieee**__, cries a voice fearfully, __**nazgul!**__- _

_while the woman with the proud face grimaces as she pricks her calloused finger with a needle, resuming her sewing without noticing the drop of blood that spatters- _

_the sword that is now broken, as isildur's eyes focus on something in the distance- _

_a ship that pulls up at the harbor and waits for the lady to arrive while the sun setting in the tranquil water seems like- _

_fire, fire from the mountain, fire burning the towns, giving birth to hatred that glimmers in the very eyes of- _

_the king who looked at her with such love, now possessively placing his hand on the ring that hangs round his neck, smiling--_

She is more than halfway up the stairs by the time she remembers the pitcher, and decides, caught up in the frenzied rush of fear, to leave it.

-

The lady returns from the Council with a solemn face. Arwen does not think it wise to interrupt her by telling her what she saw.

The years pass, Arwen returns home, and she never speaks of what she saw in the mirror.

-

Arwen is much, much older now, and many things she saw in the mirror have come to pass. She sometimes remembers the cruel king who loved her, and wonders who he could be, all the while hoping she will never be loved by someone so dark.

The glory of Imladris fades steadily with each passing year, and all she has left is hope.

-

* * *

**author's notes**: Inspired by Window, by Forugh Farrokhzad: "One window/resembling a well's ring/reaching the earth at the finiteness of its heart/and opening towards the expanse of this repetitive blue kindness/one window filling the small hands of loneliness/with nocturnal benevolence/of the fragrance of wondrous stars."


End file.
